


The Video

by dlivius



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Sex Tape, accidental j/o
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6524713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlivius/pseuds/dlivius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek gets a moment alone, finally, and there aren't any threats so he can indulge himself, for once, or so he thinks...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Derek feels a little embarrassed as he clicks through to the website that's been almost forgotten in his favorites bar—though not forgotten enough to have his subscription cancelled. He didn't know why he felt embarrassed. He shouldn't feel embarrassed. He had a weekend to himself. The pack was out camping with Stiles and Scott and Allison and Lydia, and Peter was gone too. There was no one, werewolf or otherwise, here to overhear, to pass judgment, to even know. Besides, despite what all the teens thought, Derek did have a life outside of revenge and supernatural mishaps. Well, he had... he had had a life outside it, and now he had a taste of that again. If only for a weekend.

There are dozens of new videos, and Derek sighs because that's what happens when you stop visiting for several months. A year. Almost two. He should be happy, there's a larger selection now, but he'd really wanted to go for an old favorite, something familiar.

He can't remember the actual name of the video, which is perfectly fine given how cheesy the names always were. Instead he types freckles into the search bar, glad as always that the site makes it easy to search by specific attributes. Full lips, freckles, hip bones, hands.

Derek spends a whole minute staring at the search results. There's 20 videos, with his favorite there in the fourth row, and a new one up at the top. The thumbnail is just one young man straddling another, both of their faces hidden off in the crop. Derek spends a whole minute trying to remind himself he shouldn't feel ashamed. 

He's 20, he has needs—and after all he's running around with teenagers. He's hardly the ridiculously libidinous one of the bunch.

He has every intention of tuning into his old favorite but there's something so... real about the slight puff of stomach on the man in the new video. He looks soft, like he gets physical activity but not the kind that leaves you ripped... And those freckles. They seem to travel down his stomach and before Derek knows it he's clicking on the thumbnail and hoping to see more.

The laptop sounds like it's blasting in the complete silence of the house and Derek lurches to turn the volume down with the keys. He feels his face heat and bites the inside of his cheek, reminding himself he's alone. He's alone and both the front door and his bedroom's are locked. 

The camera angle is, odd. Positioned so you can see the freckled man climb over the other, but there's nothing professional about it. No angle switch, no zoom, just a straight on shot from one camera. It feels amateurish.

Which isn't a problem. Derek actually _likes_ amateur porn. Sometimes. It can feel more real, more natural. It's a little more lighthearted, and less comically badly scripted.

The man being ridden is young, he's clearly battled with breakouts in puberty, but otherwise attractive. Blonde, glasses, hair that looks tuggable even if the other man hasn't reached for it yet. In fact, the other man hasn't moved to bend over low enough to even show his face at all. He's more a headless rider. All shoulders, hips, thighs, stomach pooch and freckles. Not that Derek minds, _at all_.

He palms his erection through his boxers and takes a shaky breath as the blonde bites out a _fuck_. It still feels a little... wrong... to be masturbating here. Not here as in his old room in his old house where he used to masturbate all the time as a preteen, but here as in his old house that he's working to renovate with his new mis-match pack of teenagers and where he's the adult on duty 24/7.

The freckled rider lets out a groan as he sinks fully onto the blonde’s cock. Derek's dick twitches in his hand, surprising him and making his face blossom red as the freckled rider rolls his hips, grinds against that cock in his ass.

How long had it been since Derek got off? He can't remember, and he already feels achingly hard in his boxers.

"You look perfect," the blonde says, and Derek isn't really a fan of dirty talk but the way the freckled rider huffs out a huh is worth it.

"Taking my dick like that," the blonde says "taking it all,"

Derek's dick does a little dance between relaxing and twitching hard and hot again as the freckled rider bites out a groan of a laugh, hisses the word fuck and grinds his hips again.

"Play with my balls" the blonde says and Derek is shoving the laptop off his lap so he can get his boxers off.

It's stupid, he knows that, but he's always enjoyed trying to match his touches to those on screen. Try to mirror the feeling of sinking into a cunt or ass with his hand, tweak a nipple when one is tweaked, make it more an experience than a visual.

He'd had his whole bisexual crisis at 12 when he sunk down onto two fingers because he needed to know what it felt like for the woman sinking down onto her partner. 

Derek touches his balls when the freckled rider touches the blondes. He strokes them carefully, even as the man on screen fumbles a bit... as if he'd never touched another man’s balls before. Derek moves to grab the lube he'd bought earlier from where it hides in his bedside drawer, still in the bag from the convenience store.

He'd meant to do this. He'd made a mental date with himself since the pack was gone. Take a little me time. Take a shower, light some candles, and touch yourself because it's been too long and hey, you deserve it. Even if sometimes he still doubted that.

The blonde talks a little too much. Tells his partner how good he feels, how well he's doing. It'd be irritating enough to make Derek change videos if it weren't for the small huffs the freckled rider makes, the incoherent groans and curses. Even barely audible, the man has a mouth on him and for whatever reason that has Derek going.

He wraps a cool, lubed up hand around his dick and thrusts into his fist a hiss coming from his mouth. It has been too long since he's touches himself. Too fucking long.

"God, you're tight," the blonde says as his rider shifts up and off his cock and then back onto it again.

Derek clumsily mirrors the movements, watches as the freckled rider presses a thumb against the blonde’s balls. The man’s cock bounces up against his stomach as he moves. Only the tip coming into vision for each split second before its smacking down against the blonde’s stomach.

"Fuck," Derek is a little surprised to hear his own voice, he certainly hadn't realized the slick sound of lube and skin was from his own jacking and not the video.

"You're a natural at this," the blonde says, grips his rider’s ass. "You feel _so_ good."

Derek's hand feels good too. Better than good, like the taste of raspberry chocolate cheesecake.  
Something else he hasn't hadn't in such a long time. 

"Shi-it," the rider groans out, moves to grip the blonde’s shoulders, chest and neck coming into view in a dazzling display of flushed and perked nipples and bobbing Adam's apple. 

The freckled rider laughs, his throat moving with it and making Derek's mouth water. He nearly whines when the blonde doesn't move to put his mouth on that neck—doesn't taste that Adam's apple. Derek wants to. He squeezes himself instead, fucks his hand quick and harsh.

"God I'm gonna, I might come." The blonde says.

_Don't come_. Derek thinks at the screen. _Just hold on a little longer_.

The freckled rider lets go of the blonde’s balls, moves up off his cock. The rider's own trailing a sticky strand of precum as it comes into sight.

Derek's mouth is watering and he lets go of his dick, nearly seeing stars. He hadn't realized how... how close he'd been himself. It has to be all the time spent _not_ doing this. All the times he felt more disgusted than turned on by the scent of lust, usually from one of the teenagers, or all the times he was blue balled by Argent or accidents when trying to pick up the cute gas station attendant. One of these days he would take her out for a drink, he promised himself this.

The freckled rider reaches for the blonde’s face, and must give him some kind of searching look because the blonde is huffing out "I'm ok, I'm good now". The rider reaches back with fumbling amateur hands to find the blondes cock and line it up with his ass. He sinks back down and Derek is shoving a tight fist around his dick as much in time as he can manage.

He chokes back a sob as the blonde groans loudly. Derek's not sure if the brief pause made it better or just made him closer to blowing his load altogether. He eases his grip, tugs the loose skin of his foreskin up to cover the sensitive head, trying to give himself some feeling without being overwhelmed.

"Good?" The freckled rider does not sound far from orgasm himself, voice low and breaking.

"So good, so fucking good," the blonde runs his hands up those thighs and Derek groans a little as he jerks up into his hand.

"You close?" The blonde asks, noticing what Derek had noticed moments before—that the freckled rider’s movements had gotten a little erratic.

The man just groans in response, shoves his hips down heavily. The sight, the feeling Derek attempts to recreate with his hand has precum spouting out against his skin.

"Tell me when," the blonde says, and the freckled rider just keeps shoving down onto that cock, pulling off, and down again.

"Ffffuck" the word stammers out of the man’s mouth before the rider is grabbing his dick, catching the spurt of semen that comes but only managing to keep half of it from dropping onto his partner.

"Damn," the blonde gives a laugh, grips at his rider’s ass when the man slows. 

He shifts his legs, gives himself some leverage to thrust up into his rider. The freckled man’s voice a broken choke of sobs and curses as his dick twitches and gives up even more cum.

Derek has given up on trying to mirror movements and shamelessly fucks his fist in quick sharp movements

"Oh, God," the blonde breathes out, hips stuttering as he comes.

Then all at once he's dropping his weight and his rider’s weight onto the bed. The freckled man reaches to grab his shoulders and brace himself, giving a laugh.

Derek is close, he's so close and he's almost angry he hadn't been able to time it and come with one of them.

"God," the blonde breathes, "come here". He reaches for the other man and freckles moves, leaning down and letting chest and neck and face into the frame.

Derek doesn't _not_ notice the cum that hits him in the chin, that's not exactly something you can just ignore, but he's too... too busy staring at the screen of his laptop to really... react.

"Oh," the freckled rider breathes, staring straight at the camera. "I forgot you were recording," he says and that voice is deeper, raspier, more fucked out and _sexier_ than Derek has ever heard it. It's almost unrecognizable, but that face—that face is not.

Derek's dick is twitching and spitting out the last of his badly needed orgasm, and there's cum on his face, and the video on his laptop just fucking stops with Stiles Stilinski's face, fucked out and flushed.  
Derek doesn't have a chance for bliss, because guilt and shame and surprise and horror is creeping over him. He'd meant to have some time to himself this weekend because no one would have to know but Derek, but now... Now Derek didn't even want to know. He didn't ever need to know that Stiles—Stiles-the-virgin-Stilinski, Stiles-who-reminds-everyone-constantly-about-his-woeful-virginity-Stilinski has a sex tape. Stiles. Stiles-the-not-really-a-virgin-at-all-Stilinski has a sex tape... And Derek... Derek has jacked off to it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is an adult with a pack of teenagers. A pack of teenagers that are nice enough to cook him bacon.

Derek is pretty sure he smells Stiles before he even hears the kid come in the house. He hears the jeep come up first, all terrain wheels crunching on gravel, and shocks wheezing because they need to be replaced—but when Stiles actually breezes in the door it's like a blast of teenage musk, sweat, unwashed hair, and Stiles own brand of body odor. A bit garlicky, a bit sweet, but none of the peach overtones Derek had always had his suspicions were the kid's body wash.

They'd been camping in the preserve; which Derek knew had no real campground given it was private property. Hale property... His property. That was in part why they'd been camping there instead of the nearest KOA camp a city over. On the preserve they could be close enough for Derek to hear someone howl if there was trouble—but far enough away that they could have all the privacy their teenage souls desired. The preserve practically wrapped around half of Beacon Hills anyway.

Given there was no official campground, there was also no shower station or public bathroom on the preserve. Which Derek supposed explained a lot.

Stiles was in the kitchen, and Derek was a little surprised to find him drinking out of the tap like a cat... or animal. Only a little, because Derek had learned a while ago that when it came to manners Stiles was lacking.

The teen straightened up from where he was slurping down water like he'd been lost in a desert, and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand before noticing Derek with a small startle.

"Hey," Stiles flashed him a grin, "I'd ask if you'd designated this a no shirt zone since you were alone all weekend, but you pretty much never wear a shirt," the boy says. 

Derek glances down his chest before looking back up to the teen. Stiles is rifling through the cabinets to get a glass. Of course, now that he’s been found out, he suddenly has manners.

“The others are coming, we’re gonna unpack, air the tents out in the backyard, that ok?” Stiles asks, filling his glass with water. 

Derek merely grunts. He refrains from pointing out that there isn’t much of a yard anymore. Not since the fire, and the preserve reclaimed the land, and they covered the whole thing in sawdust when redoing the stairs and living room floor.

“How was your weekend off,” Stiles asks, voice teasing. “You have fun?” 

Derek feels like swallowing his tongue. He can’t… he can’t answer that. Not to Stiles, not to anyone. Not until he figures out how to wipe his memory of the video he’d seen two nights ago… the video he’d enjoyed up until the very last, bone-chilling, moments.

“O-K,” Stiles draws the words out and Derek snaps out of his thoughts to frown at the teen. “Super secret pack meeting still on for tonight?” Stiles asks, pressing the glass to his lips and drinking heavily.

“Yes.” Derek grits the words out. “Take a shower,” 

He turns away from the kid and his sweat and stench. Outside another car crunches on the gravel. Allison. Derek sighs. If Stiles hasn’t showered all weekend, there’s a good chance no one has… and Derek isn’t ready to have his senses assaulted. Especially if—No because—because Allison and Scott are sure to have gone at it and will smell like sweat and sex. 

Derek disappears up the stairs as he hears the rest of the teens come crashing out of Allison’s car. He disappears into his room at the first whiffs of strawberry-vanilla perfume, Lydia, and earth, hormone riddled sweat.

Why, of all people, did Derek have to turn teenagers? Or really, he could blame his uncle for that. Peter had started it. He turned Scott first. Derek had just turned Erica, and Isaac, and Boyd because… because he needed to turn someone for stability… and teens were easy to convince… and… and if Derek was honest he kind of… felt bad for them.

“Derek!” Erica shouts, “Where’s Derek?” she questions nearly just as loud, but this time clearly not trying to get him to answer.

“Maybe he’s not here,” Scott suggests.

“He’s here,” Stiles says, “He probably doesn’t want any of you to see his breasts. You know that’s Stiles-only territory.” 

Derek groans and presses his head against the wall. That answers that question. Stiles is just as annoying when Derek isn’t around.

There’s laughing, and a couple soft thuds, and Derek can only assume they teenagers are wrecking his half-finished kitchen.

“No, but seriously, has no one ever noticed how Derek is 200% more likely to take his shirt off around me than he is… say… Erica,” Stiles shoots his mouth off.

“She jumped me with reverse statutory once, I’m just being responsible!” Derek gasps out, despite the fact that he, in his room, is the only one who can hear his plea.

“I jumped him once,” Erica says, “He won’t even pat me on the back if I’m wearing a tank top now. He’s _afraid_.” Erica nearly purrs in her way too, too loud voice.

“I am not afraid,” Derek argues, no one, in particular. 

He sighs and drags his hand down his face, realizing it’s useless. If he wanted to defend himself, he’d need to go down there… if he went down there he’d pass out because for whatever dumb fucking reason natural born werewolves have a much keener sense of smell than turned ones.

“He is a good kisser,” Erica says.

Derek bites back an anguished groan. Awesome. He is a good kisser… according to underage kids. 

He shoves away from the wall as the laughter fires up from the kitchen again, everyone talking at once. Derek shuffles further into his bed before dropping onto his bed. Somehow, even if he hated being alone, he felt like his getaway weekend had ended too soon.

“Well, don’t hold out on us Erica, details,” Stiles voice is loud, not as loud as Erica’s, but still loud enough to carry throughout the entire house.

Derek wants to die. He grabs his pillow and shoves it over his head as Erica starts to say something, and the Isaac and Scott start singing random syllables loudly at the top of their lungs. Derek is maybe really thankful for those two airheaded boys. 

The teens continue to scream and clatter around the kitchen and rattle the whole house with their strange kid-doings, and Derek takes a deep, deep breath of his pillow case. It smells like fibers, poly-fill, cotton, a hint of ink, his own sweat, and yeah… ok, maybe a little like cum too. Derek can’t help it if fabric absorbs smells.

It’s actually calming, breathing in the scent of your own body. There’s always something warmer to it, something like being wrapped in a thick blanket and given a mug of cocoa. Derek takes another few breathes before loosening his grip on the pillow and letting his hands drop to his sides. 

He can’t believe it. Any of it. But mostly he can’t believe that Stiles has a sex tape.

He’s been trying to wrap his head around that… and it meant watching it again. Only once! Derek wasn’t… he wasn’t an awful person. He was only watching it out of disbelief… or because maybe one of those lavender dreamtime candles had nightshade in it accidentally and he’d been hallucinating. Seeing Stiles in place of a very attractive, very, very fuckable young man in a porn was the stuff of nightmares. At least, that’s what Derek had learned this weekend. He hadn’t slept a wink since he’d seen that video.

“Knock, knock,” 

Derek hadn’t even hear the kids scatter, and now Stiles is at his door…. Or worse, in his room.

“So, everyone’s going to shower, and Allison and Lydia are going to get Pizza, Issac gave them your card, and we’ve got leftover bacon in the fridge for you, hickory smoked, so…” Stiles says.

“Get out.” Derek growls, but his voice is muffled from the pillow still on his face.

Stiles seems to duck out, but he’s already done his damage. Derek can just barely pick up his scent through the pillow, through Derek’s own comforting scent. Derek wants to kill him, or light his lavender dreamtime candles… or maybe the sage meditation ones.

“Derek! I’m taking a shower!” Erica screams through the house. “I’m not locking the door!” she adds.

Derek groans and whoever is still left in his half-fixed half-shell of a home snickers. The gods are punishing him. Derek is sure of it. The teens having a bonfire in the middle of the woods and leaving him alone was supposed to be relaxing… instead it feels like the teens had just come back wanting to pester him even more.

Maybe Derek should have had his own bonfire, whacked off to memories or fantasies instead. Regardless, he couldn’t change it, he could only try and forget he’d ever seen… what he saw.

Derek shoves off the bed because Stiles had said there was bacon for him, and who turns down bacon? Especially hickory smoked bacon cooked on an open fire. 

He hops down the stairs two at a time, glad for the relative peace of the house now. Not at all glad for the lingering smell of teenage musk… and… vodka? Derek frowns, sniffs at the hints of alcohol in the air. He hadn’t okay’d them taking any alcohol with them… and they’re all under 21… how did they even get alcohol?

Derek shakes the matter away. He figures he can lecture them about it later when he’s done devouring the bacon they’d brought him.

**Author's Note:**

> Spur of the moment. Will edit tomorrow. Hopefully more to come?
> 
> EDIT:  
>  Edited, mostly format, some of the grammar. Let me know if you see anything ;)
> 
> Also thank you all for reading! I will be stretching this story line a little farther!


End file.
